


Can I Walk You Home?

by Sedona_Eats_Ortolans



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst to Fluff, Kinda, M/M, and will punches him, angst to angst, go gays, hannibal is a stupid, not really - Freeform, woohoo will
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:47:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26571667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sedona_Eats_Ortolans/pseuds/Sedona_Eats_Ortolans
Summary: While cooking together, Hannibal implies something about Abigail’s death that goes too far for Will. He snaps, and angst follows.
Relationships: Hannibal Lecter x Will Graham, hannibal x will, hannigraham, hannigram
Comments: 5
Kudos: 55





	Can I Walk You Home?

Their little place in Cuba was quaint in its shutter windows and garden wrapped around the perimeter like a ribbon; ideal in its location far from town and the basement/cellar underneath two floors of comfortably furnished domesticity. 

It was one of those days that began with the goal to replenish the cellar refrigerator shelves; Will gave Hannibal the man’s name (he had tailed him for days to be assured he was no saint), and by night they were in the kitchen together, slicing meat and herbs. There was comfortable silence, held to the backdrop of gentle opera music and even gentler brushing shoulders. It was a Friday- Hannibal chose the music on Fridays, Will on Saturdays. He was already imagining what mix of 70s rock would horrify the aesthetically inclined doctor. 

“We are fortunate Elliot kept up his respiratory health. Lungs are to be cooked in the oven, not in tar.” Hannibal mused, his hand ghosting across Will’s as he handed him the next ingredient to sous chef.

“I’m not sure this is what he had in mind as an incentive.” Will murmured back, not yet as engaged as possible. He squinted at the onion on the cutting board, strategically planning his next cut like a move on a chessboard.

“Anything in his mind may as well be in our stomachs.” Hannibal’s chest was momentarily against Will’s back as he reached around to guide Will’s hands through the first few chops of the vegetable with his own. He felt warm- Will wanted to press back against him, but his presence was gone before he could. 

“Are we to inherit the content of our victim’s brains?” Will sounded more sardonic than he expected, but when he glanced up to gauge Hannibal’s expression, his eyes were met with a smile.

“Of course. It is only our right, and our duty, to consume all of our victim’s essence.” Will’s knife stilled for a moment, a moment he knew Hannibal would perceive. 

“You didn’t consume Abigail.” It was one of the days they hunted, and at the same time one of the days Will missed her more than anything- he missed her, missed the stream of safety she had given him. Hannibal’s voice was as breezy as a river’s tide.

“She was not my victim.”

Will’s cutting motions ceased entirely, his eyes staying pinned to the cutting board. He wasn’t sure what would come alive in his gaze if he sought out Hannibal’s.

“I don’t recall anyone else holding the knife.” 

“I held that knife like you held yours, many years ago. It was my forgiveness, for a sin that was yours.”

“You killed her to punish me.” Will clenched his teeth to feel his jaw tighten, to keep himself from giving Hannibal a live demonstration of *his forgiveness*. 

“I may have been the executioner, but I was not the judge.”

“I didn’t choose her death.”

“You chose betrayal, which is the same.” Hannibal had turned his attentions from the meat on the counter, looking openly at Will. Will could feel his studying stare without looking up. He had the urge to snarl at it.

“Hannibal.” It was a warning. He looked up, blue eyes meeting Hannibal’s dark like the sea crashing to jagged rocks. His fingers curled around the cutting board- it was either that or they would eventually curl back around the knife. 

“Would you prefer I say it was an unintentional fate your indecision destined her to?”

A small breath huffed from Will’s lips, something that could’ve been laughter and could’ve been something entirely different. He didn’t think-not more than he needed to- when he turned to finally face Hannibal, and punched his face, right below the glimmer in his eyes that was taunting and testing for a reaction. *Well, here’s your answer.*

Hannibal recovered quickly, but not quickly enough. Will gripped him by the collar, and moved faster than he had really planned to, slamming Hannibal against the fridge. His nose was bleeding. *Good.* It all came rushing back then; Randal Tier, the life that rushed through him while ending another’s. The fantasies that had thrived in his mind- fantasies of throttling Hannibal, cutting him, *burning* him like he had Will. He had come to close to Hannibal to not be scorched. *I want you to hurt.*

Hannibal was finally silent, his breaths slightly more labored, their eyes meeting in a ruthless stare. Hannibal saw it all- Will was sure of it. The want. The blood. Maybe that’s why he didn’t say anything.

Will could do it; even if he couldn’t, he could try. Wasn’t that all he did? Try, and try, and try, getting away and getting closer and getting *Hannibal.* The life he had wanted... a sound half growl, half disgust, rose from Will’s throat. All at once, he released Hannibal, and turned, and left the house, and ran into the claim of a pitch black night. 

~~~~~

It had been hours. Will had soon found himself in the middle of the small town only a couple miles from the house. He had found himself in a bar, blood dusted across his knuckles not enough. He wanted to paint with blood. He wanted to paint Abigail back to life, or Hannibal to death. That soon found him in an alleyway, found him three pairs of fists and all the blood he could need, even if it was his own. He closed his eyes when they left him, slumped over on the rough asphalt. He closed his eyes and thought of Abigail, knowing it would never be enough. 

~~~~~

Dinner was forgotten. Hannibal had tried to remember, but lost the point of it the moment he returned from cleaning up the blood and tried to raise the knife from the cutting board again. He couldn’t have followed Will- not to any good end, yet he still wondered if he had, what might’ve happened. It was the closest to regret he allowed himself.

That’s not exactly true.

He tossed the thought aside, already pulling on his coat and taking Will’s with him on his way out the door.

~~~~~

It would be ridiculous to search the whole town in the middle of the night for the man that just attacked you. It was ridiculous, and so Will could barely feel any surprise when a hand was on his knee, and another on his arm, and a coat wrapped around his shoulders. He had been shaking- he had been sobbing, too, but the tears dripped like blood and felt all the same. 

He closed his eyes, head tipped back against the building behind him. His breathing felt unsteady. He felt unsteady; gravityless.

“Who did this to you.” Hannibal sat down next to him (Will hadn’t expected him to sacrifice the cleanliness of his fine pressed outfits). His voice was soft, caring in its meanings- tell me their names, I will end them. I will tear them apart.

*Tear them apart, of course you would. You’ve had so much practice on me.*

“I did.” Will said numbly, his eyes rolling to stare into Hannibal’s. In the night they looked like lanterns- in the night they looked like hope. Hannibal had sat so they were just barely touching. Will sighed, dipping his head to rest against Hannibal’s shoulder. Eyes closed. He didn’t feel compelled to open them.

“I wish Abigail had been given a chance in our world.” Apology. Apology? Will’s head thudded with it, like a stone dropped in an empty, shallow pool.

“Don’t”. He whispered, pleaded, scared he would believe what Hannibal was telling him. More terrified it was true. Hannibal stayed quiet. The silence was alluring. Will was sure he was getting blood on Hannibal’s coat. The thought nearly made him smile.

“Will you look at me?”

“I don’t need to look at you to see you, Hannibal.” Will felt tears press from his eyes, because over and over he could feel himself trying, this once more, getting to Hannibal without burning on the way.

“No, you do not. What do you need?”

Will didn’t answer. He didn’t- he chose that word, because it sounded so much better than couldn’t. Hannibal’s voice never changed; it was velvet, satin. Will was cotton. He could choke on the thickness of his words. 

“Can I walk you home?” Will nodded against the warmth of Hannibal’s coat, because ‘home’ sounded better, better than alleyways and wishing. Abigail wouldn’t fit here- she defied a place in this world, in Will’s imagination.

Hannibal stood up first. Will followed moments after, Hannibal’s hand on his arm. His eyes flashed when he took in Will’s wince and limp, split lip and bruised cheekbone. His hand never left Will’s arm for the whole walk home.

**Author's Note:**

> hi darlings, i hope you liked this! it’s based loosely on the Sir Chloe song, “Can I walk you home”. Comments are greatly appreciated!


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